One of the privileges of being the mother of an active three-year-old is that we get to bring him/her into all the public restroom stalls with us. Even better, we get to keep a constant, wary eye on them as we go about our business.
What germy surface will they explore next? Will they make their escape under the door again or will they check out the lady in the neighboring stall?
Recently Angela noticed—amazingly enough, for the first time—the little metal waste basket on the wall next to the toilet.
“What’s that for?” she demanded.
“That’s for Mommy’s personal items,” I replied demurely.
Slam! The lid crashed open and she peered inside. “There are no vitamins in here!”
Bonus Humor
(Hey, it’s free so no complaining.)
I was feeling a bit under the weather this evening—a summer cold! Aren’t those the worst?—and so I fixed myself a soothing drink.
Angela: What are you doing?
Me: I’m making a hot toddy.
Angela: I want a hottie, too!
End of story. Don’t even go there.
Ad Jesum per Mariam,
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